The Road Home
by miss.ouiser
Summary: Written for funkybetsy for the BlakeSecretSanta2019. Hope you enjoy it. Happy Holidays and a great New Year to you all.


_Written for funkybetsy for the BlakeSecretSanta2019. Because nothing says Merry Christmas in the DBM fandom like a little hurt, comfort, angst and love between our two favorite characters! Inspired by "Mortal Coil", "A Night to Remember" and "Measure Twice". Hope you enjoy it. Happy Holidays and a great New Year to you all._

Jean returned to bed, futilely hoping for another hour or two of sleep. The tea and toast in the wee hours of the morning with the doctor had unsettled her. It was not the unusual repast that played over and over in her mind, but Lucien himself, and the accidental glimpse he had given into his past.

Lucien, dirty and disheveled, on his knees, eyes closed, in a position of total surrender. The trembling hand as he acted out the execution. Hearing his theory about the killings.

"Whoever he was…they took him to that shed to kill him. Imagine it. Oh, it's just awful. Adrenaline flooding the system… Just…just awful."

_Imagine it._ He was telling her and Mattie. He did not have to imagine it.

_Oh, it's just awful._ Not, "it must have been awful". He _knew_ it was awful. From experience.

_Fight or flight. Of course, he could do neither. _A prisoner. Just like Lucien.

How did a man survive something like that? What other horrors did he endure? Never knowing from one minute to the next whether you would live or die. The Lucien Blake she knew was reckless, passionate, and driven. All attributes that would easily attract the attention of the prison guards, for all the wrong reasons.

Jean found herself thanking God that Christopher had been killed in battle.

Lucien had survived, of course. And all the feelings of rage and fear and despair and injustice were now channeled into his work as police surgeon, a job he was reluctant to take, but the one for which he was the most eminently suited. He had compassion for his patients, but he was a warrior for the victims in his morgue.

He had been moodier than usual lately. More distracted, evasive and irritable. Jean hoped he was not retreating into the surly, secretive man who had arrived a year earlier. She missed the Lucien who had written from China, who had looked forward to coming home ("with much affection"). She had agreed to be his next of kin and see to his burial, but she fervently, if irrationally, hoped that day would come in the distant future.

She recalled, not without a little shame, the dressing-down she had given him that morning after the incident at the Colonists' Club, when she picked him up at the police station. Yes, it was true that everyone had lost someone during the war. But Lucien had lost more than most. He had lost himself, living too many years surrounded by death.

In the misty light of the early dawn, Jean vowed to help him end his battles and begin his life again. As she drifted into sleep, she wondered if, perhaps, they would be saving each other.

xxxx

Mattie's cake looked awful but, after the night they had had, tasted wonderful. They shared tea and cake, hugs and laughter, and, eventually, yawns and goodnights. Christopher refused the offer of a bed and insisted on getting the next bus back to Adelaide as soon as possible. Lucien saw the hurt and disappointment on Jean's face and fought the urge to chastise the younger man. It was his mother's birthday, for God's sake, the first one he'd spent with her in eight years. Couldn't he wait a few more hours?

Jean smiled and hugged her son, making him promise to call the moment Ruby had her baby. Christopher mumbled something about possibly asking Jean to come visit, provided it was okay with his wife. Jean's smile trembled for just a moment, she hugged him just a little tighter, and let go. Then he was gone. She began to clear away the remnants of the little breakfast party. Lucien came up behind her.

"Leave it to me, Jean. Go and get some sleep." He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. He found himself doing that a lot lately. Jean didn't seem to mind.

Jean protested weakly, then handed the tea towel to Lucien. As their fingers grazed one another, Lucien gave in and grasped her hand, entwining their fingers. With his free hand, he reached up to gently caress her cheek, his touch feather-light against her skin, like cradling a butterfly. His mind traveled back to that day in the garden, when they stood together in a similar position amid the sunshine and flowers and he told her it was all right to want a new life, that perhaps she was ready for one. He dared not tell her how much he wanted to be a part of it, but he believed she knew. Oftentimes, what they did not say was louder and more eloquent than the words they spoke.

They stood like that for some time, not quite an embrace, but intimate, nonetheless. Jean's hand rested against his chest, toying with his shirt button. She looked up at him, and Lucien thought he saw both permission and caution in her eyes. He kissed her forehead.

"Happy birthday, Jean. May your every wish come true."

xxxx

Lucien Blake did not lie; he really was the worst patient.

Barely twenty-four hours after his surgery, Jean could hear him from down the hall, arguing with the nurse about medication.

"Dr. Blake, please, sir…you must take this…doctor's orders…"

Lucien harrumphed, then sucked in his breath in pain. "I'm fine. Just give me the antibiotic, please."

"But sir…"

"Lucien, stop being so difficult and do as you're told." Jean made her way to the side of the bed, her arms full of flowers and a few cards from well-wishers. She kissed him on the cheek. "You're not the doctor here."

He smiled and scowled at the same time (a useful talent). "I was a surgeon, Jean."

"Yes, you _were_ a surgeon. But you're not one now. And even if you were, you can't operate on yourself."

"I beg to differ. Just ask Alice."

Jean rolled her eyes. "What seems to be the problem?" She was addressing the nurse, but it was Lucien who answered.

"That fool doctor has prescribed Luminal. For what?"

Jean studied the face she knew as well as her own, and it told her what she needed to know. He was not getting the rest he needed.

"Perhaps he wants to make sure you get enough sleep _so you can heal!_" Jean's emphasis on the healing part could be heard in the hallway. Lucien grumbled. The nurse beat a retreat.

"Alright then, Doctor Blake, what would you prescribe for a patient who is recovering from surgery to repair a lung puncture? Who lost a fair amount of blood? Who doesn't have the sense to be quiet and still to let his body heal properly?" Jean looked expectantly at the man in the bed. Lucien had the good grace to look abashed.

"But…"

"No buts."

"Look, Jean, I'm perfectly capable…" Lucien made to sit up straight against the bed pillow. A spasm of pain made him gasp, and a faint sheen of perspiration broke across his forehead. His eyes, normally so blue, looked ghostly against the gray pallor of his skin.

Jean called for the nurse. For a few moments, the flurry of activity around him silenced his protestations. Once he was settled, and the tablets given, Jean pulled the chair closer to the bed. She held his hand and kissed it.

"You're a bloody fool, Dr. Blake." Lucien heard the telltale huskiness in her voice. Jean was on the verge of tears. "Don't do that again."

"I'm sorry, Jean. I just thought…" he didn't know what he thought, and let the sentence go unfinished.

"Just think about getting well. Just think about coming home. Just think about us." For such a large man, he looked remarkably small on the narrow mattress. Jean moved closer still, marshalling all her strength to stay seated in her chair and not move to the bed. She needed to be as close to him as she could, to reassure herself that he was still here. To lay her head on his chest and hear the steady beating of his heart.

The sedative was beginning to take effect. "I'm sorry, Jean. Please stay…please don't leave… lov…love you…" Lucien drifted off.

"Oh, Lucien," Jean smiled as she stroked his cheek, then ruffled his hair. "I'm not going anywhere. You mean everything to me. You are the future I choose." She kissed his hand again and again. "I love you."

And Lucien smiled.


End file.
